


Some Things Don't Need to be Said.

by LadyLilyMalfoy



Series: The Unspoken Words Between Us [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:21:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLilyMalfoy/pseuds/LadyLilyMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sorrys and the resentments, the fear and the stress, and all the unspoken words flicker between them. Part Five and the last chapter of 'The Unspoken Words Between Us' series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things Don't Need to be Said.

Despite the uncomfortable angle at which he was forced to sit, Greg slept long and deeply by Mycroft’s bedside – completely drained, not just from the previous day but from the whole excruciating build up to this point. Thankfully, his mind allowed some respite and did not inflict dreams upon the exhausted man, but allowed him to rest without interruption, one hand laid lightly upon his husband’s – thumb tucked underneath and just resting on the slow but steady pulse.

At six forty-five, a painful throb swept through Mycroft’s head, followed swiftly by the sharp sting of the needle in the back of his left hand as consciousness finally began to return. The physical discomfort, however, was nothing compared to the pounding his conscience was giving him. If he had possessed even a modicum of energy, he’d have buried himself under the thin sheet draped over him and hid from the world until the mortification had worn off or, more likely, until there was nobody left to despise him and condemn him for his selfishness. He couldn’t bear even imagining the expressions on their faces, much less seeing them in the flesh.

_‘Infantile child...’_

His stomach snarled, adding to the cacophony of reprimands he was throwing at himself. Mycroft cringed internally; breath catching on something stuck in his throat, Mycroft’s heart jolted as fear of the inevitable repercussions of his ridiculous behaviour took hold.

The sudden quickening of the pulse beneath his fingers roused Greg was his sleep as effectively as if it has stopped altogether. He jerked and sat up, blinking hard against the white hospital lights until his eyes and mind were able to focus on the man lying beside him. The first thing to catch his attention was the slightest flush of colour in Mycroft’s gaunt cheeks, the second was his eyes flickering behind closed lids, and the third was that these meant some degree of progress.

Despite the leap his heart gave, Greg refused to allow himself to be carried along by a wave of excitement. Instead, he leaned forwards – as slowly as he could manage without putting any pressure on the hand still clasped in his – to search Mycroft’s face for any undeniable evidence of consciousness.

Mycroft tensed as he felt movement, that he assumed was Gregory’s, beside him. He knew there was nothing for it but to face the consequences of his denial, but that knowledge did nothing to ease the way. A hand brushing softly against his cheek made him flinch and his eyes spring open, breaking through the seal of sleep that had held them fast.

They stared at one another for several long moments, assessing and revaluating and aligning themselves in accordance to what had passed since they had last been them.

Everything had changed, they both knew that, and yet – somehow – nothing was different.

Paying no heed to the pain caused by movement, Mycroft leaned up just as Greg leaned down and they met halfway in a kiss.

The sorrys and the resentments, the fear and the stress, and all the unspoken words between them flickered and vanished, leaving behind only love and those things which don’t need to be said. 


End file.
